


a note is attached to the top of the vial

by GayFrankensteinsMonster



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayFrankensteinsMonster/pseuds/GayFrankensteinsMonster
Summary: Elves have a lifespan of up to six hundred years.The people that you know don't even come close to that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> guys ther'es like  
> a lot of character death  
> there's like a lot of character death. you know all the characters? they die.  
> also the whole magnus and taako relationship is a lil ambiguous i guess? i don't know which one i was intending when i wrote it. i'm a huge proponent of close platonic relationships but also like. magnus. he's a sweet good boy and i want him to be good.  
> i'm very tired. my hom e on tumblr is locus-hocus-pocus talk to me there. or here. i'm down.

Three years, two months, and fifteen days after the Bureau of Balance is disbanded, Avi gets in an accident.

There were no more relics to be hunted. Your purpose had been served. You, a reclaimer, a wizard, a powerful and tired and unwanted young elf, were closing this chapter of your life. Through a stroke of luck, the hand of fate, or the unshakable bond of people who had gone through hell together, your coworkers all packed up and moved to, well, relatively the same area as you. You lived with Magnus on a small farm outside of the city. He claimed he needed the extra set of hands. You knew that he was afraid of being alone again. That was fair, though. You accepted his offer for the same reason. Sure, you had Kravitz, and you loved him, but he was. Death. Kravitz was death and that didn’t really allow him to give you the attention you needed. So you lived with Magnus, you caught up with your coworkers- No, your ex-coworkers. You caught up with them pretty often. Carey and Killian were wild children, they still hadn’t settled down. The director- Lucretia. Lucretia stopped by every so often, and she and Magnus would always settle into an easy conversation over tea. Merle dropped in once with his kids and stayed for dinner. You hadn’t heard from Angus in years. Avi hardly visited. Johan didn’t visit, period. So, maybe they weren’t that great, in regards to the whole “friend” situation.

Still.

Three years. Two months. Fifteen days. He’d been working for a small mechanics shop, fixing anything robotic that came into his line of sight and trying to work out the kinks in a personal project that no one could really figure out. Of course, it was partly indecipherable because it had exploded and taken out the entire workshop. His notes were lost, his prototypes were lost, and he’d hung on for long enough to pull himself out of the rubble and try to call for someone to help.

Lucretia had shown up on your doorstep while you were mending a pair of socks, her mouth set in a grim line.

You went to the funeral and listened to Killian talk about Avi. The words floated in the air and you think you caught some, but when it was over you couldn’t recall. Johan had put up a wall, and didn’t talk to anyone for the procession. Merle had rested his soulwood arm on the fresh dirt on the grave, and delicate white flowers bloomed across the surface. You watched Lucretia tug her necklaces and you saw Carey press a scaled palm against her eyes. You didn’t know how you were supposed to feel, and your knees throbbed as you leaned heavily on the umbra staff.   
That night, Magnus asked if you were okay. You didn’t answer, and he’d tangled his fingers in your hair while he hugged you. You didn't know what you were supposed to be feeling. Sad, maybe. But you weren't sad. You felt frail and small and cold. His calloused fingertips traced patterns across your scalp.

Avi was an accident. You came to expect accidents out of humans. Humans were adventurous and rowdy and blissfully strange. He was a sweet person. You hoped he had someone on the astral plane that had missed him. You wanted him to be happy. He deserved happiness. Kravitz appeared some time after, kissing you softly and telling you not to worry about him.

Three years, two months, and fifteen days after the bureau, and Avi was gone. Like a firecracker lit by an excitable child. You think that on another plane, he's laughing about your comparison.

* * *

 

Four years and seven months even after the bureau, Carey and Killian are gone.

They never managed to get out of the adventuring life. They’d try and settle down in a little house on the outskirts of the city, but Killian claimed it was boring and not her style. They got married in that house. Carey had elbowed you during the ceremony and told you that she wasn’t planning on retiring until they had a kid. You wished her luck and winked at her when Killian swooped her up into her arms. They never retired.

There had been a small mine, some ways away. They’d heard about a young dragon taking up refuge inside, chasing away adventurers. They’d traveled alone, at night, and claimed that they’d be back in two weeks.

Two weeks passed. Three weeks passed. Four weeks passed, and Magnus packed a bag to travel to the town nearest the mine. He joked that maybe they'd found a nice vacation home, so he was sure he'd be back with good news. He returned with dark circles under his eyes, and didn’t greet you when he came home.

The dragon had knocked out most of the support pillars to make room for itself in the tunnels. They’d woken it up and as it fled, the weight of it wasn’t holding up the roof anymore. Magnus’ hands shook as he told you the story, and you got the sense that this was the first time he’d delivered this news himself. You made dinner and tested it for poison. You served dinner and tested it for poison again. You panicked and dumped everything, and he watched.

You met Merle, Lucretia, and Johann at a tavern. You nursed something small and potently alcoholic as everyone else drinks in their honor. Johan looked gaunt. Merle struck up a conversation that gets everyone laughing, and you were almost distracted. Lucretia talked about how they would have wanted it like this. There was no point in being sad, she said, they would want us to drink in memory of them. They would want you to laugh. You thought about what Carey said, and you mentioned it to Magnus when you get home.

He grumbled and picked you up, setting you down on your bed. He didn’t want to think about what they could have done, he said. They were together on a different plane, at least. He told you to go to sleep and laid down across from you, back turned. You wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed your face between his shoulderblades. He cried in his sleep.

Killian and Carey went out adventuring, fighting dragons and protecting townspeople. They went out together. That's all they could've hoped for. Right?

* * *

 

Seven years, ten months, and twenty three days after the bureau, Johan couldn't handle it any more.

No one found his body. Kravitz visited you and asked if you were okay. You didn’t understand the question. He looked confused for half a second, before his eyebrows shot up his forehead. He’d stumbled through an apology, explaining that he thought you knew about Johan. Kravitz spent enough time with you to learn about most of your friends, and the news made something in your chest grow cold. Kravitz explained that he shouldn’t have told you about this.

You had asked if he did it himself.

Kravitz said yes.

You had asked if he was happier in the astral plane.

Kravitz didn’t know.

You had asked if someone could have done something.

Kravitz said he was sorry, and kissed your temple before leaving. You felt numb. Magnus had walked in from outside, and rested a hand on the small of your back as you told him what happened. He had sighed, and swore.

Johan had left a note and you followed the instructions, mailing parcels to the specified addresses. He had an uncle and an aunt out somewhere that he'd wanted his instruments sent to. You felt your gut twist when you sent those off. He ended up buried in the small graveyard outside of the city. You visited, sometimes, and talked to the gravestone. In his note, said he wanted someone to remember him. You did your best. He’d left behind unfinished compositions that you passed on to Kravitz, and when he could, he read them out to you in warbling tones. Johan had been the best musician, possibly ever.

Johan was tired, he was sad, he was scared. You hoped he was happier on the astral plane. You hoped he had someone to talk to. Maybe he and Avi had met. Maybe him and Carey and Killian were in some kind of ghost house, talking happily about recent developments in their lives and afterlives.

Johan deserved that.

* * *

 

Seventeen years and one day after the bureau, you lose Angus.

You saw him the day before he died.

You had been shopping, buying something to make for Magnus for his birthday. You’d lingered on a small bit of jewelry, a plain silver band, holding it in your palm and dropping your sleeve over it as you shopped. No one would miss it. Someone had tapped you on your shoulder, and you turned to stare up at neatly tied-back black hair, pale brown skin, and a smile with a missing canine tooth.

Angus McDonald was, at the ripe age of twenty-eight, the youngest official detective of the Neverwinter militia. And while he was off duty, he was going to need you to hold out your hands, sir. You handed over the ring and slung your arms around his neck, standing on your toes to hug him. You chatted with him as you pieced out your payment, paying the shopkeeper and short-changing the poor woman. He noticed, and slid her the extra coins while glaring at you. You had shrugged and waved it off as force of habit with a grin.

He walked you home, talking about his family life and his work. He had a spouse, now, or rather two spouses, and he was working on a big case, something about an illegal drug ring. You had swatted his shoulder and told him to be careful and stop by for lunch sometime. He promised he would. When you parted at your doorstep, he took his hat off and bowed to you. You tapped a finger to the tip of his nose and told him not to be a stranger.

He took a magic missile barrage to the chest the next day while chasing down a suspect. You felt like it was your fault.

The funeral was rigid, military-esque, and full. He had made friends. He had people. Lucretia was alone in the crowd, hands twisting a handkerchief as she muttered to herself. Magnus had failed to attend. You watched a chubby half-elf dry their eyes and comfort a short, sobbing human. You wondered if he had children that couldn't attend.

You tucked yourself against Kravitz’s side later that night, letting him play with your hair idly. Magnus sat in front of the couch, resting his head against your calf. You didn’t ask any questions. You didn’t talk. Your shoulders felt heavy and you traced your fingers across the thick scars around your knee. Magnus started to say something, voice thick, but rethought it, apparently. He brought a hand up to catch yours, squeezing gently. You didn’t want to meditate. He didn’t want to fall asleep. Kravitz had kissed your cheek, sighing. The three of you sat like that for the rest of the night, sitting in silence and trying to rationalize the situation. When Kravitz left, Magnus snarked that you were dating death. Shouldn’t you have done something to stop it?

You should have done something.

Angus went out because of magic. You felt like you should have done something. You could have done something. It ate at you when you sleep at night. He had people on the other side. He had family. He would be happy.

* * *

 

Twenty three years, two months, and eleven days after the bureau, Lucretia passed away.

It’s old age, Merle told you. The deal in Wonderland had taken those years away and humans-

He had patted you on the hip and looked up at you gently. Well, humans just didn’t live as long, kiddo. You looked down at your hands during the funeral, trying to think it through. She had been- Seventy something. Eighty something. She had been eighty something and she died of old age. When you were eighty something, you were barely an adult. Merle stayed by your side through the entire procession, hands held in front of him and head bowed in prayer.

You confronted Kravitz about it in the middle of the night. It seemed like he was looking through you, and you repeated what you had said, but louder. Why couldn’t you do anything to stop this? What was the point? You had taken a step forward, pain shooting into your hip as your tendons protested. He pulled you into a hug, cold hands sliding over your shoulders. You were scared. You were scared and for once, you wanted to be alone. You told him to wish Killian and Carey a happy anniversary. He cupped his hands on your face and begged you to take care of yourself.

You tried to cook dinner. You threw up halfway through and burnt everything in your saucepan. Your hands felt numb and you could feel your lungs burn. Magnus came home and made a poor imitation of a dinner and sat behind you as you tried to steady your hands. Your bones ached. He twisted your hair into braids and talked about his day. You couldn’t focus.

When you went to bed that night you curled around him and counted the grey hairs on his chest. You wondered if all this death was affecting you in some way. How long did elves live. Five hundred something years? Six hundred? Humans lived eighty. One, two, three, four, five- You lost count and felt yourself crying.

Lucretia talked to you weeks before she died, asking for the recipe for your anise cookies. She’d invited you into her home and smiled at you. Merle had been there. Why was Merle there? You had scribbled out the recipe on a notecard and stage-whispered to her that the secret was a couple ground cloves to make it really pop. She had laughed and promised to send you a batch when she got around to baking. She didn’t have many hobbies, so picking up new ones felt fulfilling. She told you that she’d been considering cooking classes.

You hoped she’d find something to occupy her time when she was on the astral plane. You went back to counting Magnus’ grey hairs. One. Two. Three. Four.

* * *

 

Merle died.

It was thirty-some odd years, post-bureau.

Merle died.

His daughter had appeared on your doorstep, eyes watery and hair tousled. She’d been composed, but her voice was wavering. It had been cinder fever, a vicious strain, and-

She insisted that it hadn’t been painful. She told you there was no need to blame yourself. She offered you an invitation to the funeral. You tried to shut the door, begging her not to give this to you. Magnus watched from the hall, arms folded. You couldn’t. You had to.

It had been in a small grove, near the beach where he had lived before he signed on to this adventure. His kids were there, somber and quiet. They’d planted a tree, and Mavis had prayed over it briefly. No one seemed to know what to do after that. It seemed as though he wasn’t well-liked. Had he been an outcast? There was no way. But was he? You didn’t know. You kneeled down next to the sapling laboriously, looking out towards the ocean.

Was this what you wanted? You had asked the tree, one hand resting against the ground.

When the three of you started out, you’d asked why the others wanted to do this.

Magnus wanted to protect people.

You had wanted to redeem yourself.

Merle wanted adventure. A change of pace.

Was this enough of a change for you? You had laughed, drawing your knees up to your chest. They protested, sparks of pain shooting up into your hips. If you were on the astral plane now, would it kill you to say hi to Angus? Be nice to him, you told the tree, he’s still so young.

You sat there and felt the breeze on your face, until it started to rain. Fucking cliché. You took your hat off and watched lightning arc over the ocean. Magnus was standing on the shore, boots in his hand and pants rolled up. Mavis had handed him Merle’s soulwood arm earlier and told him to make something nice out of it. He hadn’t known what to do with it, so he’d handed it off to you to put in your bag.

You tapped your knuckle against the tree, blinking raindrops out of your eyes. You didn’t know what else to say to Merle. You wished he had settled down easier. Stupid adventuring spirit or whatever garbage he had claimed. You wanted to say something. You knew he wasn’t listening, this was for your own sake.

Magnus hiked his way up to where you were sitting, sand on his feet as he plopped down next to you. His cheeks were red and his hair stuck up away from his face. You scrubbed a hand on the top of his head, and he asked why you were crying. His eyes were wrinkled at the corners, grey streaked through his temples. You blinked, pressing the back of your hand against your eyes.

Merle wouldn’t want you to worry, would he? He’d had a pretty good life- Right? No need to be sad. He’d be off doing what he did in the afterlife.

You leaned against Magnus’ shoulder and watched the storm churn out at sea, hoping that Merle was happy.

* * *

 

You woke up alone.

It was odd, because you’d gone into a trance with Magnus murmuring nonsense against your hair and Kravitz pressing his face into your chest. But you came out of it alone and disoriented, calling out quietly for Kravitz. Magnus was probably working in his workshop, Kravitz had probably left for work. That was fine. You wished that they’d let you know when they left, though. You wrapped yourself in one of the blankets and levitated yourself carefully through the house, not wanting to deal with your fucked-up legs at the moment. You knocked gently on the door to Magnus’ workshop, turning the knob.

You jumped out of your skin when Kravitz dropped a clammy hand on your shoulder. You hit the door and tried to steady yourself, preparing to give him a stern talk about not scaring the poor elf with the paranoia issues.

His eyes were downcast, and he shook his head.

You didn’t understand. He rested his hand against yours, guiding you away from the doorknob.

He asked you to let him take care of this.

You still didn’t understand.

It was peaceful, he said. He’d known it was going to happen and he knew- Kravitz cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wouldn’t want you to see this, you understood?

You felt levitate waver and snapped out of it, collapsing to the floor. You dry-heaved. Everything hurt, your palms slipped on the wood floor, your knees didn’t want to bend, your head pounded. Everything was screaming. You couldn’t breathe. Kravitz was kneeling next to you in a flash, one hand on your back and the other pressed against your chest. He told you to focus on one thing at a time while holding you up. You felt your ears pin back and you snapped at him, told him to fuck right off and let you deal with this yourself. He flinched, and closed his eyes. He said that he wasn't going anywhere until you were okay again.

That was funny. You made him fetch your umbrella and tried to sit up again, your spine protesting. You told yourself to process it. Told yourself not to just freak out for no reason. You stood up and leaned heavily on the wall, steadying yourself before opening the door.

It smelled like furniture polish, and you coughed as your lungs burned. You hardly ever came into his workshop, you'd both agreed to have your own spaces. Living together was pretty easy when you weren't always having to interact. Your feet shuffled through a pile of sawdust that hadn't been swept up yet. He was slumped over one of the tables, one arm pillowed underneath his head. Some of his woodcarving tools had rolled off the table.

From here, it almost looked like he was asleep.

You ignored the ache in your legs as you crossed the room, hand outstretched. You heard yourself say his name, rising from your throat like a bubble. You could see what he had been working on, a half-finished little statue that might've been a bird. Had he wanted to finish it before he-

You touched his shoulder gently, expecting him to shake out of his sleep and blink at you tiredly. He would wake up and smile at you and ruffle your hair, complaining about the crick in his shoulder. You would tease him, ask if someone dropped a giant hunk of machine on him recently. It wasn't recent, he'd protest, and you would laugh and tell him for you, it was.

Because elves lived longer, you see. Because they didn't heal as fast. Because when you broke an elf they stayed broken for a lot longer because you were magic, you relied on magic, you were soft, padded creatures. Not like humans. Not like rough and tumble ridiculous wild adventurous beautiful humans. Magnus had said, once, after burying one of his dogs in the backyard, that they were too good to die. Dogs deserved to live forever. You had joked that you felt the same way about certain humans, and he'd picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder. You had both laughed about it, then.

Kravitz buried him.

You watched from one of the windows and waited for him to come back inside.

You took stock of the people you still knew on this plane. How many people did you know? That would miss you? That you relied on for anything? That knew you like Merle and Magnus had known you? You seemed to circle back to zero every time.

Thirty five years, three months, and twenty one days after you were finished with your whirlwind adventure, you, Taako, were alone in the world.

* * *

 

You woke up in another plane.

You delicately pressed a hand against your throat, trying to speak. It was strained, but you still had your voice. Good. You were worried for a moment. Now, you were an expert when it came to interdimensional travel. You knew that existing on a plane versus seeing it from the outside were two very different things. The astral plane looked greyscale and wispy when you had looked at it through Lucas’ mirror. That was so far from the truth. You saw bright, candy colors, more vibrant than the real world, saw people bustling about in cities that were imitations of the ones on the real world. It made you dizzy. You took a step forward, feeling light. There wasn't the same twinge of pain, and you tried again. You bounced in place and sprinted in a direction, any direction. You didn't have a solid destination yet, but you knew where you wanted to be.

You heard the plane shred open behind you, and Kravitz’s voice rasped. That was a funny trick, very ironic, but you had to go back. You weren't. It was final. His shoulders squared, and you saw his fingers tighten against his scythe. He could undo this if you went back now. His eyes were like embers, and you felt your ears twitch back a notch. He was mad at you. Hell, you would be mad at you if you were looking at this from an outside perspective. But you weren't. You had your perspective. And your perspective had consistently told you that everyone you knew was on the astral plane and that you'd be better off there. This wasn't the same as when you were running from the Glamour Springs- Glamour Falls- The poisoning. This wasn't you deserving to be dead. This was you trying to be happy.

He tried to tell you that it didn't work like that. He stepped closer and begged, eyebrows dark and heavy against his eyes. You refused. He seemed to tense, and just pointed at your chest.

He told you that he needed to think about this, and then swept his hand to point in the direction of one of the vibrant cities.

They were all in that direction. Knock yourself out.

He ripped through the planes again, and you were sorry that you left him to bury your body. He'd seen you die before, he'd brought you back. He'd never asked if you'd wanted to be brought back. This time, you were sure.

You got your bearings again, bouncing on your toes carefully before taking off at a full run in the direction Kravitz had pointed. You felt your hat fly off your head and barely managed to catch it, legs pumping as you bolted. You saw a group of houses, flowering trees in the middle and a grindstone positioned up against the side of one. You were going to see them again. You were going to-

They wouldn't want to see you.

You snapped to a dead stop, pitching forward. They would be disappointed. They would be so disappointed. They'd gone on with only a few people in their lives, they'd continued through all that. Except for Johan, they'd all gone out because of circumstances they couldn't control. They'd be so disappointed in you. Your hands clenched into fists and you forced yourself to walk slower, a more relaxed pace. You could do this. Maybe they wouldn't be upset. Maybe time was relative here, and they thought it had been a very, very long time, instead of- Well. A matter of a few years. You could hope. You swallowed, the back of your throat still bitter. You could see someone sitting against one of the trees, reading a thick book.

You thought a string of words that made sense, you supposed. Here goes nothing.

You inhaled and yelled at the top of your lungs, telling Angus to get his nose out of his book and greet the new arrival. He snapped his head up and looked around, obviously very confused. You raised your arms up and waved, trying to catch his attention. It sure was caught. He'd bolted in your direction and tackled you, lifting you six inches off the ground and sweeping you around. Angus was laughing for all of three seconds before he froze, still squeezing your torso. And that's what you were afraid of.

He asked you, very quietly, if it had been an accident. Your ears flicked, and he took that as an answer. He promised not to mention it to anyone, and you slugged him in the shoulder. You had made your choices, you told him. At this point it was too late to go back. He nodded, and planted a kiss on the top of your head. You wanted to ask him how things had been, but you felt like you wouldn't get the answer you wanted.

You heard someone yelling behind you, and that made you flinch. Yeah. There it was. Angus gently set you down and stepped back a few paces.

You were hit like a ton of bricks. That was about standard with how Magnus was as a human being. He rushed right into you and bowled you over, sending the both of you rolling. You might not be alive anymore, but holy hell, he could still pin a guy. It was a barrage of questions and jumbled statements and frankly, you weren't sure he was even speaking a language when he got to the end of his tirade. Hi, Magnus. You sure did miss him. He said that he knew. It was a little obvious since you were, you know. Dead. And not alive. You told him not to flatter himself. It had been a long time coming. His eyebrows furrowed and he sighed, dropping his head to rest on your chest. You laced a hand through his hair.

Time to get used to the rest of your afterlife.

* * *

 

It took a while.

Kravitz forgave you first. He was mad for what seemed like a very long time, but he seemed to accept the fact that it was what you did. He couldn't change that at this point. He'd caught your hands in his and kissed your knuckles, sighing as he told you that he understood. You made sure that he knew that now that you were on the astral plane, he better visit more often. He had laughed, but you felt the knot in your stomach loosen when he told you that he would.

Angus reintroduced you to everyone else, always chattering about the developments in the astral plane. Killian and Carey were happy, there had been some very interesting developments when it came to Johan, and did you know Avi had a huge crush, and did you know- Well, you knew now. Angus was very helpful. He was a little sad that you decided to, well, off yourself. But he understood why, the grieving process, all that. He braided your hair when you had panic attacks, humming to himself to calm you down. He talked about what Carey and Killian were up to and talked about Julia, who was Magnus’ wife, did you know he was married? You knew. It was a constant source of anxiety.

Carey and Killian bullied you relentlessly, and you loved them for it. Avi and Johan talked shop with you, caught up and discussed random world events. Lucretia gave you the feedback on those anise cookies. She claimed she'd improved them, and you patted her on the head and told her that she did her best. She laughed.

Merle slapped you on the hip, hard. He gave you a stern lecture about what you had done. That was expected. He was a dwarf, he knew the whole deal about lifespan differences. Dammit, Taako. He'd yanked the bottom of your shirt to make you kneel down so he could hug you properly. You teased him, pointing out that he really did care about you. Sure, he denied it. But he slapped your shoulder and told you not to get attached.

You felt a little better about the whole “poisoning yourself” situation.

Magnus introduced you to his wife. You felt bad. You explained that the two of you had lived together, and that it hadn't necessarily meant anything. But then Magnus looked a little crestfallen, and you backpedaled. You were fucking this.

Julia had laughed and slung an arm around your shoulders, just as broad and strong as her husband. She told you that she was glad that Magnus had someone to take care of him for so long. She wanted him to be happy! She'd missed him but he still had a life to live at that point.

Julia poked you in the chest and stage-whispered that her husband was a little loser. It was all good. Magnus had turned red as a beet and complained about the both of you. You laughed and elbowed Julia.

You felt better. You had friends. You had decent relationships. You had your hobbies.

You were okay.

Thirty eight years after you left the bureau, you were happy.


End file.
